Saved By The Music

by Selene Castrovilla

  “No.”

  He scrunched his eyebrows together, puzzled. “Why not?”

  “Because we’re friends.”

  “That don’t make no sense.” And he should know about not making sense.

  “He queer or somethin’?”

  “Nooo.”

  Hmmm … is Axel gay or something?

  He leaned in on me like Dracula coming in for the kill. But it wasn’t my blood he was after.

  “If ya don’t got nothin’ goin’ on wit that guy, how ‘bout we get somethin’ goin’?”

  I could smell the wild oats on his breath.

  His hands were where they shouldn’t have been—again. They were doing amazing things they shouldn’t have been doing, either.

  I was getting all tingly.

  His lips crushed into mine. God help me, I actually wanted to do it with him, even though he probably didn’t remember my name.

  I knew that tongue was coming; I prepared myself for it.

  It slipped in. Swirled around. Found mine. They touched, tickled, tangled.

  His hands were all the way up under my T-shirt. He unhooked my bra with one motion. I couldn’t even do that myself. He groped my breasts, grabbed them roughly, then slid his palms across them, smoothly.

  He was guiding me toward the couch… .

  He pushed me down, still kissing me. My head sank into the soft pillow, his lips attached to mine.

  His body pressed on mine, pushing me hard against the lumpy cushions. Heavy, hot.

  He pulled my T-shirt up, sucked on my breasts. My body felt like someone had set it on fire.

  I had to end this. Now. Before he headed south.

  “Craig … ”

  He continued… .

  “Craig … stop.”

  He either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me.

  I wacked him on the head. “Yo!” he said, popping up. “Whatsamatta now?”

  “We … we don’t have enough time.”

  “Who says?”

  I propped myself up with my elbows. “Look, I’m too nervous about my aunt coming back.”

  He pushed me back down. “Ya been teasin’ me a long time.”

  How have I been teasing him? By existing?

  “When we gonna finish this?”

  “Let me get back to you.”

  “How ’bout tanite?”

  “No. Axel always comes over.”

  “Sunday.” He whispered the word in my ear, then nibbled. “Your aunt works Sunday, right?”

  “Yeah … but Axel … ” he stopped my words with a deep kiss. Then he sucked on my neck, giving me goosebumps. The hell with it.

  “All right, I’ll get rid of Axel somehow. Sunday it is.”

  14

  Ups and Downs

  “Darlings, how’s everything progressing?” Aunt Agatha pranced into the room.

  My heart was still palpitating from my close encounter with Craig—and the even closer one planned for Sunday.

  “Busy, busy,” I said, plastering on what I hoped was an innocent smile to cover up all my dirty thoughts.

  “Yo, Aggie,” Craig said, waving his hammer. Yo was his all-purpose response. His statement in life. He was a yo-yo.

  Good lord, I’d made a date to have sex with a yo-yo. Am I insane?

  Then he shot me a look that struck the bull’s-eye.

  He was a yo-yo with some nifty tricks.

  He resumed hammering. Aunt Agatha said in a low, serious voice, “Dear heart, you’ll never believe what just happened to me.”

  I could say the same thing to her.

  “I was getting out of my car, and one of the other boat owners approached me. He owns a large schooner, I believe. A huge, burly man. Quite intimidating. At any rate, he slung his arm around my shoulder, welcomed me, and said he was sorry he hadn’t been to speak with me sooner. Then he proceeded to instruct me on how to hide drug cargo from the police.”

  She thought for a moment. “I think he called them ‘the Feds,’ actually.”

  “What made him think you wanted to know that?”

  “I can’t imagine. I guess it’s simply because I’m here, with a large vessel. So I must be in the drug trade. I suppose the prospect of a virtuous project is inconceivable to some people.”

  I started to ask how you actually did hide drugs from the Feds, but decided I’d rather not know.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “The same thing I say to everyone. I thanked him profusely, said I’d remember his help, and gave him a little bow.”

  The thought of Aunt Agatha bowing to the drug trafficker cracked me up.

  “Listen, dear heart, I know you’ve got that paint removal down to a science, but I wonder if you’d like to try something new?”

  I almost jumped for joy. “Sure.”

  We went out to the back deck. She handed me a pair of work gloves and a brush. Then she bent to pry open a can of white paint with a screwdriver.

  “So let me guess. We have to paint the whole outside of the barge,” I said, pulling the gloves on.

  “You got it, kiddo.”

  I wasn’t even going to comment on the hugeness of the task. I needed to focus on a more pressing problem.

  “Listen, I can’t do the sides. That ledge is too narrow. I’ll freak out and fall in. I’ll help you with the front and back.”

  The truth is, I flip out in steep, tight places. I completely panic.

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  God, why can’t she just say okay?

  “And then there’s the roof, too.”

  The roof! “I don’t think so, Aunt Agatha. ”

  “Dear heart, you need to face your fears and conquer them. You’ll be stronger for it.”

  Or I’ll fall off the roof and die.

  This was what I meant about arguing with the woman. She simply didn’t allow it.

  I sighed. “Let’s just get started with this.”

  I dipped the fat brush into the bucket. “Hey, what about a roller?”

  “Nah. That’s the easy way out.”

  September couldn’t come too soon.

  I hit the disgusting green steel with the brush. Splat! White paint met the wall with a plop. My brush went up, down, up, down. Thick, fresh color spread satisfactorily.

  “Amazing thing, paint,” said Aunt Agatha, dipping her brush in.

  I had to admit, this was fun. For now.

  “Aw, smile, kid,” Aunt Agatha said, nudging me with her elbow. “It won’t kill you.”

  You never know… .

  Aunt Agatha and I painted side by side in silence for a while. It was pretty darn hot, and I felt my face turning red. I was going to need some sunscreen if this was my new job.

  “Willow?”

  Hmmm … It was always trouble when she called me by my name. “Yeah?”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Jesus, does she know about me and Craig?

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yup.”

  She took in a breath. “Axel mentioned something about a nightmare.”

  Traitor! “He did, huh?”

  “He said you were in an emotional meltdown—those are his words.”

  Great, great. “Well, I think he exaggerated. ”

  “Willow, why don’t you talk to me about these things that are troubling you?”

  Because you don’t listen.

  “Nothing’s troubling me.”

  “I thought we were close.”

  How close can you be with someone who would have fit in perfectly in ancient Greece?

  “We are.”

  “You can talk to me.”

  Sure, but will you hear what I’m saying?

  “Everything’s fine.” I splattered paint against the wall angrily.

  “Is it your mother?”

  My mother. My father. Steve. You. The whole goddamn universe.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “I can hel
p you.”

  A seagull swooped in close, perhaps checking to see if anything on the deck was edible. He seemed to flash me the evil eye when he flapped away, empty-beaked.

  I socked the wall with a huge splash. Jagged waves of paint jutted across the surface. The excess fell in drips down, down, down. I studied my creation like it was one of those ink splotch tests. What did it look like? Let’s see, a huge, ragged blob. It was me.

  “Nah, it’s just a case of ego sickness. It’ll pass.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re using my words against me. Well, Willow, when I put my problems out of my mind—when I banish them as the illnesses they are, I’m healed. I stay humble. I know it’s my ego that’s making me worry.”

  “But just because something works for you doesn’t mean it’ll work for me.”

  She looked puzzled at the thought. “Are you saying your ego is above everyone else’s?”

  Oh my God. “No.”

  My ego is dragging on the ground behind me. “Just forget it.”

  “Tell me about the dream.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to help you overcome it.”

  Good luck. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. You want to know; I’ll tell you.”

  I dropped the brush onto the deck and faced her.

  “I wake up trapped in a black box. I can’t see anything. It’s just pitch black. I run into a wall. I turn, run into another wall. Four walls. I scream and scream, I pound and pound, but no one comes to help me. I finally collapse on the floor and curl up to wait to die.”

  I gave her a big-ass smile. “Happy?”

  I waited for her to tell me it was my ego sending me the dream. I swear to God, I think I would have knocked her overboard.

  “I know why you have that dream,” she said quietly.

  “Because of ego sickness?”

  “No, dear heart. It really happened to you.”

  “I was trapped in a black box?”

  “It was a small moving van. The back storage area.”

  “Wow.”

  The afternoon sun was beaming in my eye. I looked down at the deck, speckled white from our paint drops.

  “I thought it was a metaphor for the hopelessness of my life.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, darling.”

  “So what happened to me?”

  “You fell asleep in the van while your mother and I were moving things into the house you live in now. I had to run a few errands. She finished going in and out, and wanted to start organizing inside. She didn’t want to wake you, so she locked you in to make sure you’d be safe.”

  “And she didn’t think I’d wake up.”

  “Apparently not. You know your mother. She doesn’t always think things through before acting. As I said, she was trying to make sure you were safe.”

  “Please. She probably didn’t want me to wake up because I’d ask for something, like food, and she’d have to stop what she was doing to take care of me.”

  “I doubt that was her motive… .”

  “Yeah, well, doubt on. I don’t.”

  Aunt Agatha sighed. Suddenly, she looked old and weary.

  “Yeah, so I guess Mom didn’t bother to check on me? See if I woke up? Or maybe if I was suffocating back there or something?”

  “I don’t know how long it was until you woke up. It could have been minutes or … longer. I was gone about an hour and a half. When I pulled up, I asked your mother where you were. She told me. You know she has no concept of time.”

  Was that supposed to be an excuse?

  Aunt Agatha continued, “She didn’t remember the last time she’d checked on you.”

  Nor did she care, probably.

  “I unlocked the van. You were curled in a fetal position against the back wall, shaking and rocking.”

  I stared at the bobbing boats surrounding us, felt the barge moving up and down ever so slightly. I tried to decide if this was better or worse than my mind having created the whole ordeal. It was a draw.

  “So now that you know what’s behind the dream, you can drop it.”

  Oh, sure. I can just drop it. Cut it out like a useless appendage.

  Everything was so simple for Aunt Agatha. Set your mind on autopilot toward freedom from your problems and demons.

  I didn’t feel liberated. I just felt numb.

  If only it could be like Aunt Agatha said. But for me, everything was a burden. Life was a burden, and I was the mule carting it around. And the path was dark. Very, very dark.

  15

  Intoxicated

  “Hey, Benedict,” I said to Axel when he walked in.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a damn jackass, you know that?”

  “I’ve suspected it. Thanks for the confirmation.”

  “Don’t get all sarcastic.” That’s my role, thank you very much. “You had a lot of nerve telling my aunt about my dream.”

  “I was just trying to help you.”

  “Yeah, well, how ’bout I call your dad, to try and help you?”

  He looked down. “Point taken.”

  “What, now you’re gonna get all sad again? I’ve got one word for you, Axel, and that word is Prozac.”

  Man, I was leaning into him. I was pissed.

  “I’m gonna go now,” he said to the floor.

  Oh, jeez. “Come on, lighten up. Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go back to your boat and get us some vodka?”

  He looked at me with those pathetically sad eyes. I really felt like smacking him or shaking him or something. I mean I’m sad, too. But I, like, function. Most of the time, anyway. It’s the humor that gets me through. Even though it’s mostly at my own expense. Hey, if you can’t pick on yourself, who can you pick on?

  I was really in the mood to try some vodka. “Seriously, dude, go get it.”

  He just stood there, shoulders all slouched. A real downer, just when I was trying to pull myself out of the gutter. I was almost positive that vodka would give me a boost up. Sure, Aunt Agatha could just will herself to let go of things, but some of us mere mortals needed a little help.

  “Earth to Axel,” I said, waving my hand in front of his face.

  “If that’s what you want… .”

  “It is.”

  I was going to break out of this goddamn fog of doom. And then, for toppers, I was going to have sex on Sunday. Yee-ha.

  * * *

  Axel left and then schlepped back with the citrus vodka, a nice full bottle. I grabbed it from his hands.

  “You bring glasses?” I asked.

  He shook his head no.

  Loser, I thought. He hung his head again, like I’d said the thought out loud.

  I felt like conking him on the head with the vodka. “Cheer up, will ya? We can take slugs straight from the bottle.” I twisted the cap open. “Unless sharing germs offends you. Might be too close to kissing, and I know you don’t want to do that.”

  Boy, I was in rare form. I really didn’t expect to say that. It just came out.

  “You know, Willow, I think I should go.”

  “You gonna make me drink alone?” I raised the bottle, tilted it against my lips.

  His hand shot up, pushed the angle of the bottle down a little. “Hey, be careful. That stuff’s potent.”

  I snorted at the thought of being careful. Unfortunately, I chose that same moment to chug down a mouthful of vodka. I gagged and spit. Axel wound up wearing my shot on his T-shirt.

  He raised his eyebrows, and then he laughed.

  I laughed, too.

  “I guess I’m gonna have to show you how to hold your alcohol,” he said. “Just take a little sip.”

  I tried it again. A little, like he said. It didn’t really taste like anything, except lemons, but it burned the heck out of my throat. I coughed and passed him the bottle.

  “So, people like this stuff?”

  “It sure beats gin,” he said, taking a gulp.

  We went on the front deck and
settled down with our backs against the wall. He was still looking pretty stiff.

  I took another sip of the vodka. It still burned. I waited for the euphoria.

  “So, when does this stuff kick in?”

  “Soon,” he said. “Real soon, for you.”

  We passed the bottle back and forth a few more times, me taking nips, him basically guzzling. His body loosened up, his shoulders relaxed; he stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

  “How do you feel now?” he asked me.

  “I feel good!” I said. Actually, I sang it. Then I sang more: “I knew that I would, now.”

  There are things that I would not normally do, and on top of that list is bursting into song in front of someone. But at that moment, music was in my heart and it just had to come out.

  “I feel nice. Like sugar and spice.”

  “That was excellent. You should go join a band or something,” said Axel.

  “Really?”

  “Nooo.”

  We both laughed again. I giggled so hard I ached all over.

  “So I guess the stuff’s kicking in?” I asked. Axel was looking a little fuzzy.

  “Oh, yeah. It kicked you real good.”

  We had a blast. I never laughed so much in my life, even though I wasn’t sure what was so funny. We sat there and bullshitted, and the sky went from day to night, and we just laughed and laughed. Why didn’t I try alcohol sooner?

  “So you like the vodka?” Axel asked.

  I hiccuped. “What’s not to like?”

  Suddenly, I felt dizzy and nauseated. Bile rose up my throat. Before I could even think to get up, I puked all over my lap.

  “Well, there’s that,” Axel said.

  * * *

  If that night had been the most amusing, the next morning was the most horrific. They must call it getting hammered because the day after, you sure feel like somebody whacked you with one.

  I’d dreamed I had a throbbing headache, and when I opened my eyes, I found out it was real. Blinking caused major pain. And I felt unbelievably queasy.

  My hair swung in my face, and I nearly puked again from the scent of barf in it. I sniffed my skin, and my stomach lurched. My whole body smelled of puke. So did my clothes. That’s what I get for using myself as a bucket.

  I attempted to sit up. Pain shot through my brain, and the room spun. Now I knew why I’d waited so long to try alcohol. I couldn’t even remember going to bed. After I’d puked, everything went blank.